


In The Night Hours

by Starsalightinseadepths



Category: Life of the Party D&D (Web Series)
Genre: Cassian - Freeform, Ep 31, Idk around that time, M/M, Shadebourne, Vanden - Freeform, ep 30, i don’t know how these tags work, minor character injury, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23350618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starsalightinseadepths/pseuds/Starsalightinseadepths
Summary: Everyone’s a bit roughed up after a scuffle in the lower tiers, some more that what they let on. Or alternatively, Vanden’s stubborn and Cassian grows soft.
Relationships: Cassian/Renard (Life of the Party), Cassian/Vanden (Life of the Party)
Kudos: 52





	In The Night Hours

**Author's Note:**

> ” Come to me  
> In the night hours  
> I will wait for you  
> And I can't sleep  
> 'Cause thoughts devour  
> Thoughts of you consume”  
> \- War of Hearts -  
> \- Ruelle -

A short scuffle here and there in shadebourne became commonplace, taking jobs from the first and second tiers for hardly any coin. Boblem and Astra often pushed doing these jobs for nothing at all, and with their high standing with the Zavuiirs, most of the group was alright without stacking up on anymore coin. They already had enough to cover the basic things, without the costs of components. This job, however, might just cost a little more than extra for the trouble it caused. They’d all limped back to their makeshift home in the barracks after a particularly rough fight and a rougher escape that night.

Astra had done what he could, his careful humming washing over the party like a gentle breeze. Which is why Cassian hadn’t really thought much about anyone’s injuries. Sariel had faired well after Vanden and Cassian’s not-so-subtle nagging, and Boblem had passed off most attacks with his shield. Elyse and Vanden normally always come out looking worse from their position as front fighters something which Cassian himself wasn’t particularly keen on since he’d been added as an additional fighter.

Dazed and numb from the aching joints, Cassian had waved them all goodnight before hiding in the safety of his own room. It was easy enough passing the time with embellishing jewellery and communing with his spellbook. Until the scent of fresh blood faintly filled his nose. His shoulders ached as his body stiffened, scanning the immediate area around him for any signs. The bare room with scraps of fabric, a candle sinking lower into the tray that held it and his travelling bag shoved into a corner of the room. 

No obvious signs of blood, which meant...

Cassian rushed out of his bedroom, earrings jostling at the quick movement. It was stronger now, the metallic smell soiling his nose. The wizard forced himself to breathe slowly. Downstairs. Careful not to alert anyone or anything, he crept down the stairs of the common room, the faint flicker of candlelight streaming from the washroom across the wooden floors. Sensing no immediate danger Cassian edged closer to sate his curiosity.

The washroom was bathed in candlelight, making the sharper lines softer in the dimness. Leaned over the sink, dull auburn hair tickled freckled shoulders and an expanse of bare back raked with scars of all kinds. Vanden hadn’t seemed to notice Cassian yet, too occupied trying to reach back at the stretch of a wound that wound up the side of his hip stopping just shy of his shoulder blade. 

The human prince hissed as he pressed a rag to the fresh blood. Distantly Cassian remembers that strike, a stray blade passing Vanden’s defences. He remembers the tortured scream that followed, the pain that rose strangely in his own chest at that sound. It grows again, dimly in his chest, watching Vanden trying to shakily clean up the mess.

Astra had healed that, hadn’t he? The bard was methodical when it came to party injuries.

A whimper escaped Vanden’s lips and Cassian moved without thinking. The prince jumped slightly at the sudden appearance. Cassian grabbed the cloth from Vanden’s shaky hands too easily and dipped it into the water again.

“I can do it myself.” Vanden glared.

“You were struggling.” Cassian snapped back, “You could have just woken someone up instead of creating such a mess.”

He moved to press the cloth to the wound, but Vanden shifted away. Calloused hands immediately placed themself on the wound. Vanden didn’t let out a single sound, but the furrow between his eyebrows and the muscles that clenched in his jaw let out how much Cassian’s prince was in pain. Stubborn bastard.

“Let me help.” Cassian hadn’t meant for it to sound so gentle, but that pain was beginning to grow above his heart again. It registered in the back of his head just how blue Vanden’s eyes were. Deep sea-blue and honey-gold eyes stared down at each other for another moment. Vanden ducked his head again.

Beneath the loose strands of hair, there was a soft mutter of “thank you” that Cassian’s elven ears picked up. If you had told the high-elf that a few months ago he’d be fairly efficient at patching up wounds, he surely would have scrunched his face up in disgust. But now, he felt nothing but sympathetic agony, hidden behind a mask of indifference.

Vanden braced himself against the edge of the sink, silk shirt and doublet sprawled over the wooden tub long forgotten. Cassian set to work, cleaning the wound and grabbing the stitches from the countertop. The fool would just have to make sure he didn’t stretch the wound anymore in his sleep. By the morning, however, one of their many healers should be able to spend a bit more energy on making sure the wound actually stayed closed this time around.

“I’m going to have to touch you to make sure the stitches are even,” Cassian warned him.  
Vanden levelled him a look, softer than the scolding ones Cassian used to be familiar with receiving. He couldn’t exactly determine what it meant, but he felt his cheeks begin to burn all the same.

“Just do what you need to do, Cassian.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Vanden winced at the cold hand that pressed against his abdomen as the other henna-detailed hand began the process of stitching up the pink flesh. A strand of hair fell into Cassian’s face and before he could move to push it out of the way, a calloused hand tucked it behind his ear. Vanden’s hand brushed against his cheek slightly, just below the new henna designs. He struggled to keep his mask on. Cassian cleared his throat, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Vanden looked away from him.  
Granted, with all his years of sewing clothes, it didn’t take that long to finish up even lines of stitches. Cassian tied the end of the stitches and placed the remainder back into the tiny medicine kit the party owned. Cassian stood up, cracking his neck as he fixed his posture, training his eyes on the fading henna beneath the newer designs on his arm.

“Don’t do this again, Vanden,” Cassian said.

“I could have handled it,” Vanden whispered, the candlelight’s soft shadows drawing out the lines of his jaw and collarbones.

“We’re a team.” The words seemed strange on his tongue, but he pushed forward, “We have each other's backs.”

“I know.” The soft response. Vanden began to shuffle about, slower than what he had been when they came back, but his hands had stopped shaking as much. Cassian knew a dismissal when he saw one. But that pain in his chest started to burn.

“Vanden.”

He stopped moving, glancing up at Cassian quizzically.

“I mean it.” Cassian poured as much meaning as he could into it. Those same blue eyes flickered with recognition and he nodded back. Cassian pushed his shoulders back again, reassembling what he’d let slip and smirked, “Next time you want to get half-naked with me, don’t be covered in blood, yes?”

He laughed at the sudden flush and spluttering. Cassian did his best to keep his eyes off the freshly stitched up wound.

“That’s not-I mean-...next time?”

Cassian kissed the freckle above Vanden’s brow impulsively and turned on his heel leaving the prince in the washroom red-faced as a tomato. Where that pain had lingered in his chest, a deeper warmth fluttered, flushing his own face.

Stupid human prince.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thank you for reading! I’m still learning how AO3 works, but hopefully once I get a handle on it I can post all of my stuff here instead! I absolutely adore Life of The Party and I have so many ideas already. You can also find me under @itsagaystruggle or @itsagaystruggleofficak on tumblr, so feel free to stop by and chat! X


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